Late Night Musings
by Luca Lumaris
Summary: Following the events of OoTP, Harry wonders after the connection between his Godfather and his former Professor.


Summary: Following the events of OoTP, Harry begins to wonder after the connection between his Godfather and his former Professor…

Warnings: OoTP spoilers, implied slash, some big words (run away!)

Disclaimer: I don't own what belongs to the lovely JKR, and it's not as if you'd get much by suing me anyway…

Late Night Musings

_The room was pitch-black, save the odd glowing of the stones that formed the haunting archway. It was silent as well; or was it? No, no he could hear voices… they were whispering from the arch. He squinted at the black expanse looming between the ancient stones. It was rippling; leaning toward it, he saw it wasn't empty at all, it was ancient cloth, black and nearly threadbare, fluttering in an unfelt wind. And the voices grew; was that chanting he heard? _

_Like a decrepit score, they wound into a frenzied crescendo, sending his head spinning. He couldn't understand the voices pounding in his ears; all he knew was a rhythmic pulse, scenes flashing before his eyes in time. A flash of red, a look of shock on the face of a dark-haired man, the cloth fluttering, a sinister smile flickering to life on the cracked lips of a gaunt-looking woman, his own face contorting in disbelief, the man slipping gracefully through the gauzy veil… someone was screaming, he was rushing toward the voices…someone was holding him, he was being shaken, he had to get away!_

_"Harry!" the voice insisted, somehow drowning out the din around him._

_"Harry!"_

"Harry, wake up! Harry! C'mon, you'll have woken half the house by now!" 

Realizing where he was, he stopped thrashing instantly. _Just another dream, _he thought bitterly. _Another bloody dream, come to haunt me._ After the events at the Department of Mysteries the previous year he'd expected to be able to sleep in peace again, but had soon discovered he was quite mistaken. Horrifying dreams returned to him night after night, all centered on that bloody arch and veil, on repeated visions of the last few moments he had seen his godfather…

He groaned loudly and opened his eyes; Ron was standing over him looking thoroughly bothered. Judging by the amount of light in the room, it must have been just before sunrise; as the saying goes, it's always darkest before dawn.

"You quite alright now, mate? I'd bloody well like to get back to bed if it's all the same to you." 

Harry mumbled agreement, and with that Ron stumbled back to his bed. He understood Ron's impatience; he couldn't be enjoying waking to screams every night any more than he himself was enjoying doing the screaming; his throat was feeling rather raw. It was midway through August, and Harry had been staying at Grimmauld Place since a week and a half into the holidays; he was finding it sinfully boring, with most of the cleaning finished by now. Order members came and went periodically, leaving the house in general disarray.

But he had noticed a particular absence of a person; one Remus Lupin was nearly always gone on Order business, or so he was lead to believe, as the house was still Remus's only home he was aware of. He had only come round once since Harry had arrived, and seemed to have made an express effort to avoid him. Harry had managed to catch him in the kitchen at last, and asked him how he'd been doing lately. Looking more malnourished than ever, Remus had immediately apologized for failing to return some of Harry's latest letters, saying he'd been far to busy lately to sit down with a quill and a scroll. He didn't seem keen to look Harry in the eye, but when he at last did, Harry nearly yelped; though he was smiling, his eyes had an oddly dead look about them.

Harry had been very careful to keep to his word and keep in touch with Remus. At first his letters had been returned promptly and with fat scrolls as one might expect from the often scholarly werewolf. But as time went by the replies shortened and became increasingly less personal and more as though Remus felt forced to be cordial. Eventually they stopped altogether, and for a time Harry worried for his former teacher's safety. Remus's visit had taken place not long after, quelling Harry's worries for his safety but setting the stage for his worrying after Remus's mental state.

He was dwelling on it more and more lately; Remus had always been such an enigma, why had he never noticed before now? What did he really know about the man, after all? He was a werewolf, an excellent teacher, and a friend to Harry's parents and godfather. But what was he besides kind and mild; where had he been those twelve years between Harry's parent's death and the return of his only two remaining friends? What had he done since? Harry knew he stayed with Sirius most of the latter. Lord, Sirius! His death must have been the catalyst of Remus's downward spiral as it was of Harry's own first period of true grieving. Harry could sympathize with him to a point; he'd be entirely crushed if anything had happened to Ron or Hermione, but something was still tugging at the back of his mind. Plenty of people had the right to be just as upset over the loss of Sirius as he; why was Remus the only one in such a right state? What kind of connection must Harry be missing?

At last, his body took it upon itself to reiterate him that it was far too early to be musing over such complicated matters. He was rather intrigued, yes, but that was quite far from the point… after all, the night is meant for sleeping. And the dreams, to hell with them for now, he thought as he drifted off into a near-peaceful slumber.

A/N: I know this is short, but it's just the beginning of the story. I'll try to crank out the next chapter ASAP, but I can't make any promises.


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